a forever kind of girl
by DrMeh
Summary: She is a forever and ever kind of girl, but she doesn't really want to be.


**a/n**: A reflective piece of Lila. I don't own Hey Arnold, am not making any money with this, and please don't steal my writing. Reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

a forever (and ever) kind of girl

_"The perception of beauty is a moral test."_

Henry David Thoreau

* * *

"Lila," Helga hisses. "So perfect."

Lila hears her, of course. It really is silly how Helga thinks no one can hear her enraged diatribes and lovelorn soliloquys. _Silly Helga, _Lila thinks lightly because she can, but she doesn't really care too much because Arnold trails after her, not Helga, and what has Lila got to be worried about?

Yes, Lila is perfect. She walks down the halls with her perfectly braided creamy-red hair, perfectly pressed and shimmering green dress, perfect smile on her lips and perfect skin, eyes, everything. She is the one the girls are jealous of and the boys all want. The one the adults preen over, and the animals naturally seek out because her voice is just that sweet.

If Lila were the kind of girl to revel in this, she would be _queen._

But she's not. Something must be wrong with her.

She wakes up each morning, brushes her teeth and hair, washes her face. She slips on the modest silk stockings and the cute dress, adjusting the layers to fall just so. She walks daintily to school, politely ignoring the admiring looks, floats through the halls of PS118 and charms her teachers and friends.

Lila, so perfect. Lila, so talented. Lila, so beautiful.

"Hey, Lila!"

She turns automatically to smile at Arnold, whose face is dusted instantly with the slightest blush. "Yes, Arnold?"

She can see Gerald and Sid loitering some distance away, goofy smiles lighting their faces when they catch her curious glance. "I just wanted to tell you…. You look so nice today!" Arnold says.

Her smile fades away, because Arnold is sincere and genuine. A one of a kind boy, one in a million soul. There are many millions of people in the world, Lila remembers.

"Thank you ever so much, Arnold," she replies, and is rewarded with a small smile. She watches him turn back to his friends, who are sweet in their own right, but she's fairly certain they won't stay that way for long. Boys grow up and become mean and uncaring, while girls grow up to become hurt and equally uncaring. She thinks of how everybody sees her as so grown up, and maybe they're right.

Then again, she watches Arnold's hair flop over his uniquely shaped face- _football head_, she fondly remembers- and thinks maybe Arnold will be the forever kind of guy in their ragtag band of classmates and not-friends. Just maybe.

She realizes she is gritting her teeth, and quickly stops in case somebody notices. Nobody does.

* * *

The next morning, Lila wakes and sits up in her bed. She looks around at her room. It is neat and tidy and carefully decorated by her mother and there sits a vase of flowers that her father changes every Tuesday. If Lila were any more of a cliché than she already is, she would hate it. She would despise it and when the clichéd day would come, she would snap and destroy it and change it completely.

Truth be told, Lila kind of likes it. It's warm and comfortable, and it's something her parents made for her out of love. Not with expectations, not from obligation- she knows this because the quilt is striped orange and blue, her favorite colors, and the flowers are tulips because she hates roses.

She loves her parents for that, very much.

She slips out of bed and goes to the bathroom, preparing to start her morning routine. The cold water clears her slightly scrambled thoughts, the lemon-scented soap makes her smile. She brushes her teeth, because hygiene is important even if superficially white teeth aren't. She brushes her hair and sets to weaving the braids, but the braids come out unevenly five tries in a row. She wrestles with them for ten minutes before finally deeming it perfect, then picks out her dress.

It's her favorite, she wears it every day. Shimmering green, cute and demure. Matches perfectly with her eyes, hair, and skin. _Perfect, _she thinks. There that word is again.

The mirror sits in front of her, and she gives it a smile, examining it carefully. What was it about her smile that other people liked so much? She looks for a while, but of course now that she's looking, the smile turns strained and artificial- a grimace. She shrugs and stops smiling, and refocuses on the mirror.

Perfect Lila with the dress and sweet smile and 'pleases' and 'thank yous' and 'ohsocertainlys'. She watches in the mirror as she shrugs the dress off, picks it up and refolds it lovingly. She sets it back in its sacred place, and picks up the dress next to it.

It's blue and slightly more elaborate than the green one. It's not her favorite, but she likes it quite a bit anyway. Why not? She mouths the words into the mirror, watches a smile form. She puts the dress on, and reaches to undo her hair. The braids flop free, and she likes the look of it, really.

She looks wild and free and happy. But she doesn't feel it- not entirely, not yet. She ties her hair back into one single braid, pins it up.

Lila is the happiest she's ever been.

She walks into school, and smiles at the others in response to their shocked looks. She looks very different, she knows, but she has a feeling it doesn't have to do with her dress or hair. It has to do with the rare crinkles in her eyes and the slight dimple in her left cheek, has to do with how she's not floating anymore but just walking, if with a slight bounce in her steps.

"Lila?"

A dimple appears in her right cheek. "Hey, Arnold," she replies, turning to smile at him.

He's giving her an odd sort of look. It's not exactly shocked, not exactly welcoming. She tilts her head and thinks maybe it's more thoughtful than anything.

"Are you okay?" he asks, seriously and with concern.

Her smile fades away, because Arnold is sweet and kind and real. Yes, she decides, this one is a forever kind of soul. "I am oh so perfect, Arnold," she says, and this time, she really _means _it.

He smiles at her, then. Not his usual small Mona Lisa-esque quirk of the lips, but an expression of positivity. "That's good, then. You look wonderful, Lila."

He walks away, and she walks away, passing Helga who is wearing a frown so malignant that it very nearly hides the deep hurt.

"Good luck," Lila whispers to her as she walks by, and she's absurdly glad that there's not a single thing malicious about it.


End file.
